Never Again, Always
by Shi-Toyu
Summary: When John is injured while visiting his sister, Sherlock rushes to his side. The consultant has known about his feeling for John for a while, even come to terms with them. How will this new development affect things? Johnlock


A/N: For everyone reading this, my brother went to the hospital earlier this week and this is loosely based around what happened with him. Sitting in a hospital room while he slept, I had a lot of time to write and this is what happened. (For those judging me, I didn't write this till after I knew he was going to be alright.) Anyway, here you go! Enjoy!

Never Again, Always

Never again, Sherlock was never letting John go see Harriet without supervision again. In fact, it was entirely possible that he was never letting John go see Harriet again at all. The woman was clearly a bad influence, entirely irresponsible, and the one at fault for the awful, awful situation Sherlock Holmes found himself in. Really, he may yet decide to just never let John leave the flat at this point.

It had been John's birthday the day before and, on his sisters insistence, had gone down to see her in order to celebrate. In the end, it had just been an excuse to feed her alcoholic habit and drink. Normally, John would never have fallen for such a flimsy excuse, but he was tired and probably very in need of a drink himself.

He and Sherlock had just finished a case that had lasted several days. John had been exhausted when he'd boarded the train to go see his sister and Sherlock had, in fact, passed out in bed promptly upon returning to the flat. A clear indicator of a good case was always how tired Sherlock was by the end of it. Couple that with the fact that John's nightmares had been escalating as of late and it was hardly a surprise that he'd given into a bit of indulgence. Sherlock could practically hear Harry's irritating voice saying, "You're turning 40, John! Live a little!"

If there were anything good and true in the world, fate would never allow for her and Anderson to meet. That much sheer stupidity in one room could very well be the end of them all. Recent events did absolutely nothing to improve his opinion.

As it was, the majority of Sherlock's attention was focused on the much-too-frail and much-too-pale looking man in the hospital bed before him. John Watson's eyes were closed and the Heart Rate Monitor beside his bed beeped a steady rhythm. The man was attached to too many machines for Sherlock's taste, all designed to monitor his living functions, and an IV hung down near the blonde's shoulder.

He was dressed in one of those one size fits no one gowns that hospitals loved to force people into and the near-paper sheets of the bed crinkled with each breath. At the very least they had given him an actual blanket. When Sherlock had first arrived Harriet had been lingering in the room, but he'd quickly removed that problem. She didn't deserve to be there. After all, this whole situation was her fault.

Sherlock had woken up the day before to excellent weather and mold cultures that had finally reached the proper maturity for his experiment. Except for John's continued absence, it had promised to be a very good day. John was scheduled to return that evening and it wasn't like Sherlock couldn't live without him for a few hours. He'd lived over thirty years without him before.

It wasn't until several hours after waking up that Sherlock had gotten around to checking his email. (On John's computer) Deleting a few junk messages, the consultant's gaze had picked out Harriet's email address among the possible cases. The subject line read, "knew youd want to knw." She couldn't even be bothered to use proper spelling and grammar. (He'd quickly deduced that she'd written the email while still under the influence of alcohol.)

'John has a skull fracture and bruising to his brain…took hm to ER at 1am. He is in cRitical Care unit for Neuro Trama…'

The email had gone on for another two paragraphs, but all the information Sherlock needed to send him flying out the door had been in those first few lines. He'd already been in a cab on the way to the train station by the time Mycroft had gotten off of that fat, lazy arse of his and picked up the phone. What had he been doing, anyway? Eating cake with both hands? (Sherlock would not admit that perhaps his adverse reaction to Harriet's news was making him a bit mean.)

"Why, little brother, it's not very often you grace me with a telephone call. Do tell me you haven't managed to get yourself caught breaking into a secret government base again…"

Mycroft sounded almost bored and it set Sherlock's teeth on edge. How dare he carry on with life as usual when something so catastrophic was happening to John?

"John is in the hospital. I need to know which one and all the information you can get for me. I am on my way to the train station."

"Of course." Sherlock could tell by the instant alertness in Mycroft's voice that he was sitting up much straighter than before and he could imagine him motioning to Not Anthea in that Imperial way of his. "Tickets will be waiting for you when you arrive and all the information will be sent to your phone. Do send Doctor Watson my regards, won't you? He has done such wonders in improving your attitude."

The brunette didn't even dignify that with a response, instead pressing the end button and willing the cab to go faster.

"50 quid if you can get me to the train station in the next five minutes."

The cabbie glanced in the rearview for only a moment before his foot found the accelerator and he began weaving through traffic. Luckily, the roads were pretty empty and, somehow, they managed to hit all greens at the traffic lights. Less than three hours later, Sherlock had been standing outside of the door to John's hospital room.

According to the information Mycroft had provided, Harriet Watson had dragged her brother out to a pub the night before and proceeded to get him utterly piss drunk. Not a hardy drinker to begin with, age was hardly improving his alcohol tolerance. Unlike his sister, John had the medical training to realize that the liver was not a muscle and did not grow stronger through 'exercise.'

Sometime during the night, John's chair had tipped over backwards and he'd hit his head on the floor…the traditional stone floor. He'd been so drunk that he managed to laugh it off and go back to drinking. An hour or two later, though, he'd been complaining about his neck and head hurting. One of Harry's friends who had been there apparently possessed the common sense to take him to the hospital.

The initial CT scan had shown multiple fractures to the skull, bruising to the brain, and minor swelling. Mycroft had been thorough enough to include image files of the scan. A cursory glance from Sherlock confirmed what was in the medical report. No definite conclusions could be drawn until the next scan, but a quick internet search on his phone told Sherlock what to expect on either side of the spectrum.

Best case scenario, if the swelling began to go down within a few hours, John would have an awful headache for about a week and a tender head for about a month. Worst case scenario, if the swelling became worse, John would require surgery. Literally, the doctors at the hospital would need to drill a hole in the blonde's head to relieve the press of the brain against the skull. While his survival was assured, brain damaged had not yet been ruled out.

John, in his ordinary, bumbling way, was one of the most brilliant men (or people in general, for that matter) that Sherlock Holmes had ever met. He was fascinating and surprising, things Sherlock belatedly realized he'd never bothered to tell the man. More than all of that, though, he was Sherlock's friend.

Sherlock had never _had_ a friend before John. He'd always been a loner, a freak. There were those who had a fondness for him. Mrs. Hudson often found his eccentricities oddly endearing. However, John had been the first person to really connect with the consulting detective. He'd called him brilliant instead of a fake. He'd asked, "How do you know?" instead of saying, "Piss off."

To lose that connection terrified Sherlock, which was probably why he'd stood outside John's hospital door for a good half-hour before summoning the courage to go inside.

The lights were off when he entered, no doubt to ease any pain on John's behalf, and the first thing he saw after letting his eyes adjust was Harriet curled up in a chair in the corner. She stank of alcohol and cigarettes. The latter should have been appealing, but Sherlock could only find it revolting at the time. She'd rolled her head lazily to look at Sherlock.

"I didn't think you'd come, Holmes. I thought for sure you'd be experimenting on a head or whatever other freaky shite you were up to without my brother there to reel you in."

One text to Mycroft and 90 seconds later, Harriet Watson was being removed from the ward. Sherlock eyed her chair suspiciously before taking a seat in the one opposite and turning his full attention towards John.

He was asleep, and seeing him lying there so still and quiet sent a shot of panic through Sherlock's chest. However, Mycroft's reports indicated that he was being awakened every two hours to be quizzed with obvious facts to ensure he didn't have a concussion. The brunette stood at the foot of John's bed and watched him for some time.

Eventually, John's eyes fluttered open and he groan miserably. Sherlock was crouched beside him in a second.

"John."

"Sh'lock?" The blonde squinted up at him, clearly confused by his presence. "What're you doing here?"

"Do you know where you are, John? What's the year?"

"Oh, God, not you, too. Why won't anyone believe that I'm bloody fine?"

The irritation warmed Sherlock's chest and he felt the corners of his lips tug upwards for the first time since getting that awful, horrible email. Yes, having John awake and irritated was definitely better than him lying still and pale in the hospital bed. At those times, it was only too easy to imagine that he was cold, too, and the thought sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine.

"Perhaps it's because you're in the hospital, John. The multiple skull fractures do tend to indicate a certain level of well-being that is just shy of the positive side."

John's lips quirked and Sherlock felt his eyes being drawn to them, as they so often were lately. Sherlock was no fool he knew he had developed…_sentiment_ for his flat mate. (Even in his head, he uttered the world with derision.) The blonde had never given any indication of returned interest, though, so Sherlock had never taken action. He would rather have John as a friend, than nothing at all.

"Did Mycroft call you? Don't tell me he has an alert in place to let him know any time I'm admitted to a hospital."

John had meant it as a joke, but Sherlock couldn't help but answer honestly.

"Only in London. After recent events, though, he is likely to expand the parameters."

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"Mycroft takes a vested interest in meddling with my life. Often, that means meddling in the lives of those I know, as well. Feel free to yell at him next time he shows up at the flat."

"So how did you know?"

"Your sister sent me a rather…interesting email."

John groaned.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock. Whatever she said, I swear it's not that bad. I just got a little bump and they're keeping me for observation, standard procedure."

"Six."

"I'm sorry?"

"You have six separate fractures to your skull. The largest is located directly behind your left ear, which is why you favor that side. Furthermore, the pain is making you sensitive to light and sound, which is why the lights are off and your voice has been getting quieter and quieter throughout this conversation. I saw the scans. While your awareness and speech patterns are a good sign that the swelling is not continuing to expand, there is still a risk for brain damage."

It was probably just John's bad luck that he happened to be in the room with the one man in the world who would notice his flinch at that last part. Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"You are afraid of the possible mental repercussions. Of course, that is why you play the whole thing off as no big deal. It isn't an attempt to comfort those around you, but an attempt to trick yourself. Obvious. I can't believe I missed it!"

"Yes, yes, and now you're shouting it to the world. Ta for that."

It struck Sherlock that perhaps he'd done something a-bit-not-good. He moved to the chair beside John's bed and sank into it, remaining silent for a time.

"I was worried, you know. Your sister made the situation seem quite bad."

"Yes, well, she is the more dramatic of the two of us. I'm glad you came, though, Sherlock. It means a lot."

Uncomfortable, the brunette pulled his great coat tighter around himself.

"Due to her lack of clarity, I assure you. Her email left things quite unexplained and the mystery rated at least a six."

"Ah. At least _some_ good came from all this, then. I know I'm a doctor so I shouldn't complain, but being a patient is so boring! There's nothing to do but lay here and stare at the ceiling." Suddenly, he frowned. "You didn't leave the stove on again, did you?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Sherlock made a mental note to call Mrs. Hudson in a bit and have her check. For now, though, he just wasn't quite ready to leave John's side. They sat in companionable silence for a bit.

"I hope you've learned your lesson from all this."

The blonde looked at him in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"You're 40 years old, John, much too old to be running around getting drunk and falling out of chairs."

"Oh, yes, because _I'm _the irresponsible one."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why don't you deduce it, Mr. I-run-after-criminals-with-no-backup."

"I thought we'd cleared that up. I had the situation completely under control."

"Oh, yeah. I could tell you did by the way I had to tackle him off of you. Totally under control."

"I knew you'd show up."

"How could you have _possibly_ known that?"

Sherlock smiled at his friend.

"Because you always do." He gave John a meaningful look. "I don't like the idea that there might come a time when you won't be there to. It would be quite the inconvenience. Do me a favor and allow me to take care of the questionable situations then, won't you? Clearly, I am much better at them."

"Why, Sherlock Holmes, are you trying to protect me? If I didn't know you so well, I might be flattered."

"You should be."

And, really, John was flattered. It was the closest Sherlock had ever come to expressing concern for another human being and that made the blonde happy. He often wondered how much he really meant to the brunette. It was hard to tell.

"Well, if anything good came from this situation, at least I know how you feel about me."

Sherlock instantly stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

"You _care_, Sherlock. That's good. I care about you, too."

The brunette scoffed.

"Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."

"If you keep quoting Mycroft at me, I'm going to get you your own umbrella."

The threat earned him a glare, but John's smile didn't dim in the slightest.

Several hours passed, filled by their playful banter. When the doctors came to take John for his next CT scan, Sherlock managed to bully his way into coming along. The blonde only rolled his eyes in exasperation. Over an hour after that, the Neurologist came to John's room to give him an update.

"The scan came back looking good. There is still some swelling of the brain, but it's gone down since the last scan. We'll run some tests just to make sure there is no underlying brain damage, but I wouldn't be too worried. You'll likely be in pain for the next two weeks from the fractures and I would avoid any physical work for six weeks after that. Try and keep things very calm and low key."

Sherlock and John exchanged a glance, but neither said anything.

"We'll keep you overnight for observation, but if everything still looks good tomorrow morning then we should release you that afternoon."

"That sounds fantastic, Doctor. Thank you."

The man left the room, other patients to see, and left the two alone again. Sherlock smiled at his flat mate.

"Low key?"

"Doctor's orders, Sherlock. Don't you dare try anything stupid."

"I'm insulted that you think I would. Honestly, John, have you learned nothing from our friendship?"

John raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Really? What I've learned from living with you, Sherlock, is that nothing is ever 'low key.'"

Despite his teasing tone, his words caused a clenching sensation in Sherlock's chest. His gaze fell to the floor and he fidgeted with his hands like a school boy in the principal's office.

"I could try, you know. I've been meaning to get around to some experiments on how different blood types can affect the growth of plants when exposed through the soil. They offer very few chances for explosion…"

Silence reigned in the room for several minutes before Sherlock dared to peek up at his flat mate. John sat in the bed staring at him as if he'd grown another head.

"Are…are you offering to curtail your experiments for me?"

Much to his chagrin, Sherlock could feel a flush (_not_ a blush, certainly not) rising on his cheeks. Though the sentiment was true, that didn't mean he wasn't embarrassed by it. He'd rather hoped it would go unmentioned.

"I suppose, no need to overreact."

He played it off in the same way that John had attempted to play off the severity of his condition earlier. As before, the two knew each other much too well for the other to buy the act. John, however, at least had better social graces.

"Of course. Thank you, Sherlock. I mean it."

And he was sitting up in that hospital bed, looking at Sherlock so earnestly, that it really couldn't even be considered the detective's fault when he leaned over and pressed his lips against those of the other man. He held the pose for a moment, nothing more than a chaste, brief, contact, before pulling back.

The shock on John's face brought him back to himself and he scrambled to recover. Now he'd done it. His first real friend, his _only _friend, and he'd gone and ruined it by falling stupidly in love. How could a genius be so blindingly idiotic?!

"Sherlock! Sherlock!"

John's alarmed voice cut through his haze as strong hands gripped his shoulder's settling him. Sherlock's eyes met John's and he could see the surprise and confusion staring back at him. There were also traces of something else in that look, something almost like…hope.

"Did you mean that, that…kiss?"

John would know if he lied, he always did. He was one of the few who knew Sherlock well enough to tell the difference, something which Sherlock found endlessly irritating. Biting his lip, the brunette nodded. He braced himself for the outrage or, even worse, the pity. What he didn't brace himself for, though, were dry lips pressing against his own.

The kiss was awkward, given how many machines John was hooked up to and the angle at which they were connected. However, even many years and many kisses later, Sherlock would still look back on that one as his favorite. John pulled back after only a second or two, smiling in that comforting way of his.

"Good. I was starting to think I was the only one."

He settled back into his bed as though nothing had happened while Sherlock just stared at him. The blonde eventually slid a concerned look his way.

"Are you alright? I didn't break you, did I? I mean, I figured since you kissed me first it was okay, but…do you not like me? Oh, God, I've horribly misinterpreted this whole situation. Sherlock, I'm so sorry."

"You like me? As a romantic interest?"

Sherlock was still struggling to wrap his head around the idea, but John looked at him like he was crazy.

"Well, _yeah_! Who wouldn't be? Sherlock, you're gorgeous and brilliant and the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. How could I not be interested? I mean, I know I'm always saying I'm not gay, but that's only because I'm bi…I thought you knew that…"

"You're not straight?"

"Well, I'd have thought that was rather obvious now…Does this…change things?"

Worry had crept onto John's face and it finally overrode Sherlock's confusion. John shouldn't be allowed to wear that expression, especially not in a hospital bed. Never again. The brunette swept down to capture the man's lips again, this time taking longer. He flicked his tongue out to beg for entrance, a request that was quickly answered. When he pulled back, both were panting and John's Heart Rate Monitor was making some irregular noises. Sherlock rested his forehead against the other's.

"Yes, John. It changes _everything_."

When the nurse who came to check on John assumed they were a couple, neither corrected her. After all, for the first time since they'd met, it was true and from that moment on, it would be. Always.

A/N: Alright, so I figure it's pretty obvious what the differences are between what happened to my brother and what happened to John. (i.e. flatmate, alcoholic sister, government involvement) Still, I hope you all liked it! Please review and let me know!


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